


If Music Be the Food of Love...

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's had a crush on Cas since forever, but they've barely spoken before. It makes sense to Dean, since Cas is incredibly hot, seriously smart and kind of hardcore with his nose piercing and half-shaved hair, and Dean is - well, just Dean. When Charlie drags Dean out to a party - "for science, Dean" - he's not really expecting to enjoy the night. But then Cas finds him, and the night takes an interesting turn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Music Be the Food of Love...

Dean could feel the thrum of the bass in his head and in his chest. He leaned back against the wall of the huge, dark room, staring down dubiously at the aquamarine drink in a red cup that he was holding gingerly in one hand.

“Drink up, Dean,” Charlie said, her voice a shout that Dean barely heard over the whine and drop of the music. “No one’s checking ID’s tonight.”

Dean offered her a grin that was more of a grimace, and took a tentative sip of the poisonous-blue drink. It tasted of vodka, and faintly of raspberries. Dean tried not to cough as he swallowed it down.

“Do you think we should dance?” Charlie shouted at him excitedly. Dean looked out over the crowd, a great sea of people moving together, the beat breaking over them like endless waves. Most of them had painted their bodies and faces in bright, luminous colours, and when someone smiled their teeth flashed bright white under the UV lights placed around the dance floor.

“I’m fine here,” Dean said, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” Charlie said, leaning closer and reaching up to tweak his hair. She’d insisted on styling it herself before they came to the party, and had also chosen Dean’s wardrobe; gone were his usual sweaters and chinos, and in their place he was wearing a black tank top that showed off his surprisingly muscular arms, and a pair of black skinny jeans that showed off his surprisingly firm –

“But… we came here to dance!” Charlie said. She ran one finger under his eye, presumably correcting the eyeliner that she’d applied there earlier. Dean sipped his drink and shrugged. Charlie rolled her eyes. “This is the first time we’ve had an invite to one of these things, and I think we only got it because I helped Jo Harvelle with a math problem last week. I bet she won’t remember I exist next time one of these things rolls around, we’ve got to take advantage of this and do it properly! Expand our horizons! I mean, I always cast myself in the Hermione role, but what if I’m Ginny, Dean? What if you’re Ginny? What if we’re both Ginny?”

“Yeah, that girl really knew how to party,” Dean shouted back, looking more closely at the crowd, trying to recognise faces, but it was almost impossible in the near-darkness. That was probably partly the point, Dean thought.

“She’s vivacious. And totally dreamy,” Charlie said, following his gaze. She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, Winchester. Dance!”

“Alright, alright. Let me finish my drink, though,” Dean said. “It’ll spill out there.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, and started to move away towards the crowd of dancers.

“Will you be OK without me?” Dean called after her, putting a hand on her arm so that she’d turn and read his lips – the shriek of the music had reached a climactic, ear-splitting level.

“Ginny was the Queen of the Bat-Bogey Hex,” Charlie said with an impish grin. “I’ll be fine!”

Dean relinquished his hold on her arm and she moved away, soon swallowed by the crowd. Every now and then, Dean thought he caught sight of her red hair. As he was watching, taking tiny sips of his vaguely fruity drink, Dean noticed a figure detach itself from the dance floor and move away, heading for the wall. At first, all Dean could make out was its rough outline, and the bright green UV paint spiralling up his arms and shoulders in a pretty pattern; as it got nearer, however, Dean could make out its face. His heart seemed to freeze briefly, before unsticking itself and starting to thump harder than the bass of the heavy music.

“Castiel,” Dean said, raising his glass in an awkward gesture that he aborted halfway through, taking a sip of his drink to compensate and half-choking on it.

“Dean Winchester?” Cas said, his voice incredulous and deep enough to be heard through the music, even though he wasn’t speaking loudly. Dean, holding in a cough, chose to smile and nod. He hoped that Cas couldn’t tell how pink he was in the dark. “You’re really here. Jo said you’d turned up. She didn’t say you’d be…” He trailed off, fully taking in Dean’s appearance – the dark, tight clothes, the fake ear piercing, the eyeliner, the spiked hair. “… dressed differently,” Cas chose to end with. Dean shrugged, trying hard to clear his throat surreptitiously. Cas offered him a small smile, his head tilting to one side.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “Is everything OK?”

Dean swallowed hard, his eyes watering. Maybe he should just let out this coughing fit, and be done with it. But he looked at Cas – Cas, who he’d had a huge crush on for months now, Cas, who barely spoke to him at school, Cas, who was looking incredible in tight-fitting leather pants and a loose, sleeveless t-shirt – and couldn’t bear to make a total moron of himself. He’d probably never have Cas’ attention for this long again. He shrugged again and nodded. Cas looked at him appraisingly.

“It’s your first time at something like this, right?” he said, and Dean swallowed, and suddenly – miraculously – the cough lodged in his throat shifted, and he found that he could speak.

“Yeah,” he said.  _Wow, way to go, Winchester,_ he thought to himself.  _Really witty. Really advancing the conversation. You’re definitely gonna keep him interested if you keep that up._

Cas nodded, his big, icy blue eyes meltingly soft and kind when they rested on Dean’s face.

“It’s intimidating at first,” he said. “All the noise. It’s OK.”

“Yeah,” Dean said again, unable to think of anything at all to say. He smiled, and Cas returned it.

There was a tiny pause in the music, and then a new beat started up. There were a few whoops of excitement from the crowd, and Cas tipped his head back slightly as the thick bass started up, his eyes closed.

“This is my favourite,” he said, and when Dean had finally managed to prise his eyes away from Cas’ neck, and the supple muscles of his shoulders, he nodded. Cas’ piercing gaze was back on him, and his hips started to rock slightly in time with the music.

“Come and get painted,” Cas said, reaching out a hand. Dean pressed his back up against the wall, shaking his head.

“No, I’m good,” he said. “I only came here because my best friend Charlie wanted to, I’m not really here to party.”

“You’ve got the look,” Cas said, gesturing at his clothes, and Dean shrugged self-consciously.

“Charlie said we should look authentic,” he explained, and Cas smiled.

“Come and let me put paint on you,” he said, his hand still held out, “and I’ll make you look truly authentic.”

Dean hesitated, reaching his fingers out, pausing just before they met Cas’.

“No dancing,” he said firmly.

“No dancing,” Cas promised.

Dean sighed, looking into Cas’ bright, piercing eyes, feeling his heart beating fast and hard in his chest – and leaned forwards, and put his hand in Cas’.

Cas smiled at him for a moment, a moment that seemed to last a full minute to Dean, before turning away and leading him around the edge of the dance floor. They had to squeeze along one of the walls, pushing past dancers as carefully as possible, and Dean found himself unconsciously hooking his fingers in between Cas’, entwining them tightly so that he wouldn’t get left behind. Cas threw him a quick backward glance of reassurance, and squeezed his fingers lightly.

Dean wondered if he was going to make it through the evening without experiencing some kind of cardiac arrest. If his heart kept skipping beats every time Cas met his eyes, he suspected that it was unlikely.

They approached a table at one corner of the room, with tubes of paint lying haphazardly next to brushes and cups of water. Cas led Dean right up to it, not letting go of his hand as he reached out and picked up a paintbrush.

“What’s your favourite colour?” he called. The music was even louder here, as they were closer to the massive speakers. The bass was fast and heavy, but the high, slightly screeching melody was slower, almost transcendental. Dean gulped, looking into Cas’ smiling eyes.

“Blue,” he said.

Cas’ gaze swept over his face for a brief, hot moment before he turned away, loading the brush up with luminous aquamarine paint, as bright as the drink in the cup that Cas was now taking out of his grasp. He’d relinquished his hold on Dean’s hand to do so, and Dean felt the absence of it, as though there were tiny voids, little chasms of darkness, small chinks in the fabric of reality in between his fingers. Dean swallowed hard and shook himself. The music was starting to get to him.

Cas was reaching out with the brush, and Dean hissed when it touched his skin for the first time – it was cold, but not unpleasantly so in the building heat inside the room. Cas painted up from Dean’s elbow and over his shoulder in the same swirling, mesmerising pattern that adorned his own arms, working quickly and efficiently. When he reached Dean’s collarbone, however, his progress slowed. Dean became suddenly aware of how close Cas was standing, his head bent to the task, the shaved side of his head very close to Dean’s face – did he need to be that close? Dean found that he didn’t really care, breathing in the scent of heat and paint that was radiating off Cas’ skin.

“So how are you liking the party now?” Cas asked, moving the brush slowly across Dean’s chest with patience.

“Better,” Dean said, willing his voice not to come out too hoarse. “Much better.” He cast about for something more interesting to say, but the shriek and whine of the music was filling his brain too far for him to have space in there for thinking clearly. “The music still sucks, though.”

Cas pulled back a little, his eyes flashing in the UV light, his mouth slightly open in protest.

“You don’t like this music?” he asked. Dean shook his head.

“Give me Mozart over this crap any day,” he said. “It’s so repetitive and boring.”

“Repetitive and boring…” Cas repeated darkly, returning to his paintwork. “Repetitive and boring? Have you been listening properly?”

“Is there even anything to listen to?” Dean yelled, as the higher notes of the song started to gather up again, screaming further and further up the scale, building and building before  _boom_ , the bass dropped.

“There’s something to listen to, alright,” Cas said, smiling at Dean. “And something to dance to, as well. Unlike classical music, which is boring. You can’t dance to Beethoven. Or Mozart.”

“Right,” Dean said. “Because you’re too busy being  _blown the fuck away_ by his chromatic harmonies to even remember that you’re a real person, let alone try to dance.”

Cas laughed, his eyes crinkling up, and he laid down his brush.

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree,” he said. “You’re nearly done. It just needs…”

Cas reached behind him, and when he turned back to face Dean, he had a thick coating of luminescent paint on his first two fingers. Looking into Dean’s eyes, he raised them to Dean’s face and swiped them along his cheeks. Cas’ fingers felt warm under the wetness of the paint, and Dean felt a heat uncurling in his gut. He swallowed hard.

“Perfect,” Cas said, his eyes not leaving Dean’s. Dean tried to smile, but his mouth was hanging slightly open and it was barely more than an upward flick of his lips. Cas didn’t miss the movement, though, since his eyes dropped down briefly to Dean’s mouth, and then back up.

“Dance with me,” Cas said.

“You promised no dancing!” Dean protested. “No, man, I’m gonna go… get myself another drink.”

“Dean…”

“I might see you later,” Dean said, taking a backward step out of Cas’ space and almost tripping before he turned and walked away.

He spent the next two hours sitting outside the building where the party was being held, feeling the paint drying in cracked lines on his cheeks and shoulders, and wondering why the  _hell_ he hadn’t said yes.

**

A week later, Dean was sitting on his own in a practice room at the back corner of the Music Department, trying to figure out the slightly trickier part of Für Elise. He knew that this wasn’t really all that hard, but he hadn’t started playing all that long ago and the twenty-sixth measure was giving him trouble. It wasn’t so much that the notes were hard to play, and more that it sounded too mechanical, too soulless when he was playing it. He’d heard this piece a thousand times, of course he had, and he wanted to do it justice.

He began again, from the beginning, allowing himself to relax into the music. He knew this part of the piece so well now that he barely had to think as he was playing it. It was one of his favourite pieces, always had been, despite its simplicity and the frequent butchering it received at the hands of novices – novices like him, Dean reminded himself with a little smile as he fudged one of the faster parts.

Behind him, he heard the door creak. With a little  _plink_ of surprise on a high note, Dean turned around. Standing in the doorway, his arms held stiffly by his sides, his expression one of intense concentration, was Cas.

“You don’t have to stop playing,” Cas said. He wasn’t wearing much make-up today, but he had a little silver hoop through his eyebrow and a stud in his nose, like usual.

Dean shrugged self-consciously.

“I’m not much good,” he said. “Don’t have the touch for it. But it makes me happy to play.”

“I think it sounded great,” Cas said, coming further into the room. After seeing him last under the UV lights of the party, Dean thought that he looked strange and slightly incongruous in the harsh strip lighting of the school music department. “Can you show me how?”

“To play it?” Dean said, a little startled. He allowed a grin to creep onto his face. “I thought you didn’t like music that you can’t dance to?”

“I like many kinds of music,” Cas said primly, moving to sit next to Dean on the long piano stool. “I simply pointed out that Mozart would not be ideal material for a party.”

“Yeah, OK, sure. Well, this piece is called Für Elise and it’s by Beethoven, who was a pretty awesome guy because he was mostly deaf when he composed a bunch of his best songs.”

“That’s incredible,” Cas said, frowning down at the keys. “How did he manage to… I can’t imagine trying to put a song together without being able to hear it.”

“You write music?” Dean asked, surprised. Cas shrugged his shoulders, the soft t-shirt he was wearing brushing up against Dean’s arm.

“I remix,” he said. “I want to be a DJ someday.”

“Not with that dubstep crap,” Dean groaned, and Cas smiled and nudged him sharply in the ribs with the point of his elbow.

“Yes, with that dubstep crap. Now, show me how to play the piece.”

“OK, right. You put your hand here – I’ll do the left hand, you be the right, OK? Now, this finger here, that finger there.” Dean arranged Cas’ hand neatly, noticing how long his fingers were, the tanned skin warm and soft under his own. He hoped he wasn’t sweating. “Right, now, this one first, then the other, then do that again a couple of times – that’s right – now down to this one,” he quickly shifted Cas’ fingers – “and back up to here… now down again…” Dean filled in his own part of the melody, a lot more slowly than usual. “Good!”

“Let’s do it again,” Cas said, his eyes narrowed a little in concentration. He didn’t miss a note when he played his notes the second time, and the way his hand curled over the keys, almost stroking the sound out of the piano, made Dean catch his breath.

“That was amazing,” he said, and Cas flicked his eyes up to meet Dean’s, apparently checking for signs of sarcasm.

“It was nine notes,” he said, but he looked pleased.

“It was great,” Dean said earnestly, and thought he saw a little patch of pink appear on the cheek that he could see. Cas’ fingers lingered absent-mindedly over the keys for a moment before he said,

“There’s another party tonight, same place, same time. Will you come?”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Look, Cas, I’d love to, but I’ve got tickets for a concert tonight.”

“A concert?” Cas looked over at him curiously. “Who’s playing?”

“The Philharmonic,” Dean said, and watched Cas laugh in response. “They’re doing Holst tonight. You know the Planets?” Cas shook his head. “Well, it’s worth a listen, trust me. And the conductor at the Philharmonic is awesome. He always turns up in a tux and a baseball cap.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Cas said. “Are you… going with someone?”

“I was going to go with my brother,” Dean said, “but he told me this morning that he’s got too much work to do. And they call me the nerd.” He rolled his eyes.

“So you’ve got a spare ticket?” Cas said.

Dean nodded.

“Yep,” he replied.

There was a pause. Cas looked at Dean, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

“What – you want to – but Cas, you said there was a party tonight, and you love…”

“You spent a night listening to the music I love,” Cas interrupted him. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to return the favour.”

“Well – well, sure!” Dean said; his brain felt stuck, as though the grinding gears had a wrench in the works somewhere.

“As long as you weren’t going to give the ticket to someone else…” Cas said a little nervously, his eyes searching Dean’s face, trying to interpret the strange signals that Dean was giving off.

“No, no, not at all,” Dean gabbled. “No, it’d be great… it’d be great to see you there.”

“Perfect,” Cas said, a smile blooming on his face, warm and bright as spring hope turning into summer radiance. “Where is it, what time?”

“Avery Fisher Hall,” Dean said weakly. “Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be there,” Cas promised, standing up. “I’ve got to go, I have a class. See you at eight?”

Dean could only manage a silent nod as Cas left the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Dean wasn’t sure whether to sink to the floor or leap ten feet into the air or roll around the room in disbelief. He compromised by leaning back against the piano, his back pressing down on the keys and producing a jumble of notes. He let out a long, low whistle. Somehow, without even trying, he’d got himself a date with Castiel Novak.

**

At seven-thirty, Dean rolled up to the Avery Fisher Hall. He paid off the cab and straightened his jacket before starting to walk, heading for the main doors of the building, where he’d wait for Cas. His dark, shiny shoes made a light, professional clipping sound against the pavement, and his suit was neatly fitted. It had cost him an arm and a leg and the replacement prosthetics, but Dean was damned if he was going to turn up to a concert looking anything but his best. He felt good in his suit.

He felt a sudden rush of panic as he realised that he hadn’t told Cas what to wear. What if he turned up in his usual clothing?

It wouldn’t be so bad, Dean thought. Cas wasn’t the type to embarrass easily, and frankly Dean was still too caught up in the fact that Cas had blown off a party to come to a Holst concert with Dean, of all people, to think too hard about what other people thought of them. If Cas turned up wearing a banana suit, Dean would still think he looked amazing. Though the shape of the banana might make it hard for the people sitting behind them to see the stage.

“Dean?” Dean jerked his head left. Walking towards him, smooth and sophisticated in a perfectly-tailored suit, was Cas.

“Cas,” Dean heard himself say. Cas looked incredible. His legs seemed longer in the suit trousers, his half-shaven hair styled to lie neatly, giving him a sleek look that set Dean’s heart racing.

“What were you smiling about?” Cas asked, as he came to a halt right opposite Dean. Closer-to, he looked a little uncomfortable in the suit; Dean wondered if he himself had worn that same expression of slight uneasiness when he’d been wearing the party-gear that Charlie had convinced him to put on.

“You in a banana suit,” Dean said, with a grin that Cas matched, albeit with a touch of confusion. His tie was slightly skewed, his whole collar a touch awry; Dean reached out to fix it before he’d thought the action through.

The backs of his fingers were pressed up against Cas’ throat. He glanced up to look into Cas’ eyes, and their gazes locked. Dean’s fingers stilled. When Cas swallowed, he felt it.

A couple walked past, hand-in-hand, talking animatedly about the show to come. Dean cleared his throat and finished fixing Cas’ tie.

“Perfect,” he said, and Cas beamed at him. He offered his arm for Cas to take. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Cas said, sliding his hand through Dean’s arm and following his lead into the Hall. Inside, the place was abuzz with chatter, full of the jittery excitement that came before a show.

“Feels like right before a big party, when I’m DJ’ing,” Cas said, staring around the room in wonder. “The same nervousness.”

“I guess a performance is a performance,” said Dean, handing over their tickets and leading Cas onwards. “C’mon, let’s find our seats.”

Inside the auditorium, Dean felt a sense of familiarity rush over him at the sight of the golden light, the plush seats, the high ceiling. He glanced over at Cas, who was staring about him, his mouth closed but his eyes wide open with wonder.

“You like it?” Dean asked. It was starting to fill up, people slipping into their seats and settling in, excited and anticipatory.

“I like it a lot,” Cas said. “Though I feel a little out of place.”

“Really?” Dean said, nudging Cas and pointing towards their row of seats. Cas began to move as he answered.

“All the grandeur, it’s incredible, but… I’m not sure I fit in here.”

Dean scoffed as they began to slide along the row, heading for a couple of seats right in the middle.

“Are you kidding? Anyone can fit in here, as long as they’ve got a decent suit. And yours is… more than decent,” Dean said, trying to stop his mind from lingering too long on exactly how  _more than decent_ Cas’ suit was in all the right places. “Nah, man, your parties are way more intimidating. Not everyone fits in there. I was wearing all the right gear, but I wasn’t any more a part of it than if I’d been wearing… well, a banana suit.”

Cas pursed his lips thoughtfully as he took his seat.

“I think you could have fit in if you’d been wearing a banana suit,” he said seriously. “It’s all about your state of mind, at my kind of party.”

“You’re telling me that you could wear anything at all to a party and still have a good time,” Dean said sceptically. Cas stopped inspecting the stage and turned to look at him, his face very close to Dean’s.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“What about that suit?” Dean said. Cas looked down at it in surprise.

“This?” he asked. Dean nodded. “Yes, I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean said, just as the orchestra began to file out of the wings and take their places. Dean started to clap along with the rest of the audience, and Cas followed his lead.

“Ready for your first classical concert?” he said in a low voice, as they applauded the first violinist.

“Ready,” Cas said, looking at the musicians ranged across the stage.

“No dancing,” Dean warned jokingly, and Cas turned to look at him with a smile.

“No dancing,” he promised.

**

Cas talked non-stop the whole way out of the auditorium, and out of the building, and across the concourse, and up to the road.

“The way that the music had so much depth, even though there was no bass, it was amazing, Dean! I’ve never heard any classical music played like that. You have to write down the names of those pieces so that I can find them. I want to listen to them all again… I want to do the whole thing again!” Cas turned his eager, wide-eyed face to Dean, and Dean smiled.

“You’ve got the bug,” he observed slyly, and Cas nodded.

“It was fantastic,” he said. “One of the best nights of music that I’ve ever experienced. Thank you so much, Dean.”

“So it wasn’t  _boring_ , at all?” Dean couldn’t resist asking. Cas screwed up his face.

"You win,” he said. “I take back what I said. Classical music isn’t boring.”

A cab drew up to the curb, and far too soon, it was time to say goodnight.

“Well –” Dean began.

“I’ll see you at school,” Cas said, and he was standing close enough that the back of his hand brushed against Dean’s. They both looked down at the point of contact, and as they did so, another couple hopped into the cab that was waiting. Cas and Dean watched it drive away, standing silently, before turning to each other with a look of mild shock that rapidly dissolved into laughter. Dean clapped a hand to Cas’ shoulder.

“We’ll get you another one, hang on,” he said, flagging down a second taxi, which drew up alongside them. “OK, you really gotta get in this one. I’ll see you at school.” He opened the door of the cab. Cas walked around him to get in, pausing at the last moment and leaning forwards to press a soft, quick kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said, and Dean was blushing brighter than he ever had in his life as he pushed the door closed and watched the cab drive off into the night.

**

“Dean, this isn’t some back-alley rave,” Charlie said impatiently, folding her hands neatly on top of the desk. “It’s our Senior Prom. We can’t allow just anyone to play a set.”

“But Garth’s contact dropped out, we have a space,” Dean said, leaning forwards in his seat. He looked over at Garth, who nodded ruefully. “And this guy’s good.”

“You’d barely spoken to him until last week,” Charlie said, exasperated.

“A week is plenty of time,” Dean said. “This guy’s got musical talent, seriously. And it’ll be good to have something a bit more current. Think about it, guys. Do we want to go down in the school archives as the Student Council who played crappy noughties pop music all night, or the Student Council that dropped the  _bass_ , motherf-”

“I think I want to be remembered,” Charlie interrupted, “as the Student Council who didn’t choose an amateur to do a professional’s job, Dean.”

“But Cas  _is_  a professional,” Dean said. “He’s done loads of parties, he told me! Come on, Charlie, he’ll be amazing. Trust me!”

Charlie sighed and looked over at Garth, who shrugged.

“I’m down for letting Cas have a shot,” he said. “He’s a nice guy.”

Charlie looked from Garth’s relaxed, slightly sleepy expression to Dean’s intensely hopeful one, and groaned.

“Fine,” she said. “He better be awesome, Winchester.”

“Awesome like the Weird Sisters,” Dean promised. “He will be.”

**

Dean had never been to a party like this before. He hadn’t bothered turning up to his Junior Prom – there hadn’t seemed much point, since at that time he hadn’t been on the Student Council so he hadn’t helped organise it, and the idea of dancing made him uncomfortable. He and Charlie had gone to see  _Don Giovanni_ together instead, and Dean had no regrets on that score.

The music wasn’t anywhere near as loud as it had been on the night when Dean had turned up to the rave with Charlie. His classmates were all gathered in the school hall, which did look impressive; Charlie had an eye for this kind of thing, and the place was barely recognisable under the make-over she’d given it. It had the feel of a large, upscale bar, and the students were mostly wandering around the edge of the room, watching each other and sipping their soft drinks. A few were dancing, but even though the night was in full swing, the music was a little lacklustre.

“Charlie really dropped the ball on the music,” Dean heard one girl saying to her friend.

“Shut up, it’s Cas next,” Dean heard the friend respond, and recognised Jo Harvelle, who gave him a little nod and a smile as he passed.

Dean scanned the hall, seeing a few friendly faces and waving to them. Finally, his eyes alighted on Cas, who was leaning against the wall, off to one side of the raised area where the current band were playing a clashing, messy song on their guitars. Dean began to wander over, feeling a little self-conscious in his suit for the first time ever as he noticed people noticing him – probably for the first time this year, Dean thought to himself wryly, as he leaned against the wall next to Cas. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, but instead took a moment to adjust to being in each other’s presence. Dean felt the familiar hum of excitement start up in his mind, just as it always did whenever he was close to Cas.

“You ready for this?” Dean said. Cas nodded, and then narrowed his eyes as he looked out over the hall. Dean followed his gaze. “Tough crowd,” he said, guessing Cas’ thoughts.

“They aren’t dancing,” Cas said. “What if they don’t like dancing? What if no one dances?”

“Of course they will,” Dean replied. “’Course they will, Cas. And if they don’t…”

Cas turned to look at Dean as his sentence trailed off.

“If they don’t?” he prompted, biting his lip. Dean looked into Cas’ eyes and the nervousness that he saw there made his heart twist.

“If they don’t,” Dean said, “then I’ll dance. I’ll dance enough for everyone.”

Cas looked at Dean as though he’d just seen the sunrise breaking over the horizon. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could do so, Charlie was walking over to him, holding her clipboard and wearing a slightly forbidding expression.

“Cas, are you ready? It’s time for you to go on. All your equipment is already up there, so go… do your thing!” She smiled at him as he turned around to face her. He nodded once, and moved towards the stage. Dean could see his nervousness in the ramrod straightness of his back and the stiffness of his arms, but there was also a determination, almost a confidence about him. Cas mounted the stage.

“Aren’t you supposed to introduce him?” Dean said, turning to look down beside him at Charlie, who wasn’t there anymore.

“Hi everyone!” Charlie said, from up on stage. She looked nervous, her fingers white on her clipboard, just as they had been for every announcement. Charlie had a genius for organisation, but she was no public speaker. “Um, right, hi. I hope you’re all having a great time tonight. Our last set will be played by our very own Castiel, an aspiring DJ. Over to you, Cas!”

Dean looked out over his classmates as they clapped; it was a little half-hearted, but several people drew nearer to the designated dance floor, looking interested. Up on stage, Cas slipped on a pair of headphones, and leaned forward over his equipment to pick up a mic of his own.

“Hi there,” he said into it, and a few people cheered. Dean caught sight of Jo Harvelle whooping, and felt his opinion of her kick up another notch. “My name’s Cas and I’m going to play you some of the stuff I’ve been working on. Get yourself to the dance floor, if you are able.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. The introduction was so typically Cas, and yet people were congregating on the dance floor, waiting for his first track to begin.

Cas cleared his throat and put down the mic. His hands hovered for a moment over his laptop, and the sliders on the equipment in front of him. Dean watched him take a deep breath – and then the music kicked in.

The whole hall seemed to roar with delight as the song started. Dean had never heard the track before, but the rest of his classmates certainly seemed to have done so – there was a rush to the dance floor, and Dean saw Cas’ face light up as they began to move with the heavy beat, jumping and waving their arms.

_Lately, I’ve been, I’ve been losing sleep,_

_Dreaming about the things that we could be…_

Dean let the music wash over him. It wasn’t as screechy as the songs that had been playing when he’d gone to the party with Charlie, and though Cas was pushing up the volume, it wasn’t as loud, either. Cas had a softer touch, though the bass notes were as profound and heart-shaking as any Dean had ever heard. Looking out over the hall, filled with dancing, laughing students, Dean felt a kick of pride. He looked over to the side of the stage and met Charlie’s eye; she grinned and gave him a big thumbs-up, mouthing  _thank you_ across the room. He winked at her, and went to get himself a drink.

Cas’ set lasted longer than originally anticipated; whenever Charlie tried to mount the stage to call a halt, she was shouted away. Eventually, Cas picked up the mic.

“I have no more songs left!” he said into it, his hair a little slick with sweat where it fell down to his forehead, looking tired but happy. “That’s all I have. Except… there is one thing I haven’t played yet. It’s a little different, though.”

The students gathered on the dance floor yelled and cheered their appreciation, calling for the track to be played.

“OK, I’ll put it on,” Cas said. “I made this for someone I know, who proved me wrong and showed me that classical music isn’t boring. In return, I’d like to prove myself doubly wrong, and dance to some Beethoven.”

He dropped the mic, and press play. From his place up on the stage, Cas pointed a finger at Dean, and beckoned him forward.

The first notes of the song began to play – high, tinkling, beautiful.

Dean felt his heart stop. It was Für Elise.

The bass came in, and the drums, heavy and pounding under the soft melody. It shouldn’t have worked – and yet somehow, incredibly, it did. It sounded amazing, even to Dean’s ears.

As if in a dream, Dean began to move forwards. Cas had left the stage, and Dean lost sight of him as he joined the crowd. He pushed through his classmates, barely bothering to be careful as he searched for Cas. A few people paused in their dancing to stare at him as he passed, and some laughed, but they barely registered.

The sea of students seemed endless, an infinite ocean, impossibly huge; and then, in a rush, like a tidal wave, it parted – and there was Cas. Cas, in his sweaty tank-top and leather pants, flushed and shining with exhilaration, looking at Dean as though he were the only other person in the room.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, Dean with his hands tucked suavely into his pockets and his feet slightly apart, Cas with his arms loosely down by his sides and his eyes full of intensity. In that moment, Dean felt like the most important thing in the world was happening exactly where they were standing – felt more powerful, more humbled, more brave and more terrified than he’d ever felt in his life. Cas was watching him, his gaze hot and piercing as a line of blue fire. Around them, the music was building and building, the note rising to a peak, beautifully high and then –

The bass dropped, and as though it were a cue, Dean and Cas stepped forward at the same moment. Without pausing, without needing to ask, they moved in close, close enough to breathe each other’s air for a split-second that seemed as though it lasted a lifetime before finally, finally, perfectly, they kissed. Dean’s hands were in Cas’ hair, Cas’ fingers trailed down Dean’s cheek. The kiss was hot and deep and a little hard, all sweetness dissolved in the onrushing wave of the instant, the indescribable  _need_ to be in each other’s space, as close as they could get, as much a part of each other as they possibly could be in that one moment as the music whirled around them, saturating out the surplus sound and burying them in each other’s desperate, wanting touch.

They broke apart, and stared at each other for a long, long second.

“I think I just forgot I was a real person,” Dean said hoarsely, licking his lips.

Cas laughed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a way that seemed to set Dean’s whole body afire.

“We need to get out of here,” Cas said.

“No dancing?” Dean asked.

“No dancing,” Cas replied, as he led Dean away.


End file.
